A Bohemian Affair
by Crystal shatters
Summary: We all know she shines, but there really is no an end without a beginning. This is a story of love, a story of sadness. "A story," according to Montmartre. Chapter 1 begins now…(Ch. 2 added)
1. Rise and Shine my baby

_We all know she shines, but there really isn't an end without a beginning. A story of love, a story of sadness. "A story," according to __Montmartre__.__ Chapter 1 begins now…_

_Disclaimer: All things Moulin Rouge by Baz and all its other owners, not me._

_A/N: I haven't written for at least a year, but that's only because my computer crashed and so have my words. And with a new fic comes a new name; I used to be Parisia Starr._

.

**A Bohemian Affair**

**Chapter 1: Rise and Shine **

**By: Kat (Crystal shatters)**

.

.-,.--.,-.

_Below every curtain lies a star that shines as bright as the sky_

_Behind ever mask lies a broken girl just trying to find her way_

_Beside every patron lies the prized possession who cries_

_Beneath the lipstick lie words that long to be heard_

_Between the eyes lie secrets that hope for some escape_

_Behold the beginning, a story without any end_

.-,.--.,-.

.

She knew she was different, much different from the whores at the end of the street, next to that flashy whore-house; The Moulin Rouge. But in her deepest thoughts, she almost wanted to be one of them, just to feel part of something, befriended by another girl. To wear make up, to have the breasts and companionship. But to do that was the same as being one of the Devil's own…

"Satine, when are you coming home?" said an old cripple of a woman, who happened to be standing only slightly taller than the business counter.

"I promise I'll close up soon, Aunt Mae, its only sunset." Satine delicately handed her the packaged bread over the counter in which she knew would be used for dinner that night.

"Well then, I hope you don't leave me too lonely before nightfall." And with that, the old woman limped away with the slight tap of her cane on the freshly-cleaned floor.  Satine smiled, only to continue stacking the shelves with freshly unboxed goods.

She was sweet sixteen and had never had the luxury of having a parent or being taught to read and write in a classroom. Instead, she replaced the 'parent' roll with her beloved Aunt Mae-- who was twice the age of Satine's birth mother, Samara, and not even half as beautiful. Having not been blessed with beauty, Mae took it well growing up, supporting Samara's glamoured, pampered life as Paris's most famous performer, as well as taking over her motherly position after Samara's tragic, tubercular 12 years ago. The death was never to be talked about by Satine, who lived through her mother's death over and over in even the most peaceful of nights' rest.  

As for the reading and writing that Satine eventually learned, Aunt Mae hadn't known how to do it herself, regretfully, but the very smart Mr. Wesley was a retired professor / writer of both English and French. It was Mr. Wesley who taught her writing and English since the age of 4. Twelve years later, Satine had come to seem as the most highly educated girl in all of Montmartre, nearly every whore and dancer envied her brains and inherited natural beauty. But Satine was oblivious to all of this, as she feared the crude comments made to her on her way home from working at Mr. Wesley's accomplished little grocery store.

It was those comments made by the whores that made Satine feel unbeautiful and bad about herself. Of course, she got smiles from every man that walked in, especially the seemingly and more common drunken ones with no money, yet wanting some bread or buns to live off of. As a good worker, Satine tried not to give in, but out of her naturally sweet disposition, she couldn't help but slip a slice of bread to a drunken beggar. This population made up at least half of the tiny ville of Montmartre anyway. This was also the population that complimented on her beauty the most. For that, she believed that they were just too drunk to see the difference between a real pretty girl and, well…herself. And upon working, she was still too poor to own something as lavish or as nice as a mirror that reflected regularly. Satine had always used glass at home where her looks were nothing but the brightest of red hair (making her feel like a jester) and the snow-white skin that reddened almost to the shade of her hair upon nervousness or embarrassment. In her lonely mind, she _was_ in fact the lonely jester, lanky, small-breasted and completely un-pretty.

"Satine," called Mr. Wesley from the back. "You can stop your unpacking now; I'll finish up tomorrow morning. It looks like that was the last of our customers for the day anyway. See you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mr. Wesley." Satine gave the store a last look for tidying as she pushed open the door and remembered Aunt Mae's request to ask Mr. Wesley to dinner at their shabby place. "Oh, and Mr. Wesley?"

There was a muffled 'yes' from the back.

"Would you like to come to dinner tonight?"

Mr. Wesley emerged from the back, wiping the dirt off his hands. His white hair was shading some wrinkled features. "Why, that would be lovely, Miss Satine. Is Mae still up to cooking?"

"Yes, she is, but I fear it will be only me soon." Satine tried not to sigh to herself; once again realizing just how bad Mae's getting around was coming to be, and most of all; trying to accept it.

His eyes lowered as he nodded. "I'm sorry, Satine."

She covered her fears as she half-smiled. "Thank you, Mr. Wesley. I'll see you soon."

Walking home had become nice that evening. The sun continued to fade in front of her eyes, and the whores surprisingly weren't out to badger her. In fact, none of the Bohemians where out, though she could hear the singing and laughter from the bars and rundown homes.  She could also hear the birds and the soft words of the man singing from the windowsill at the corner house. This time, she actually stopped to listen to his tune (since she didn't have to pay attention to daily whore-tease), her eyes not looking up, but straight ahead as the words seemed to lift her to some place higher than earth...

_I have seen tears _

_In my mother's eyes_

_And I have felt anger_

_In the working pace of my father's stride_

_I don't know why_

_But all I feel is love inside_

_All I feel is love inside_

Satine felt a tear stream down a pale cheek, remembering her 'family,' as a few strands of bright hair by sunlight blew to the front, shielding her pain-struck eyes.

_So rise, rise and shine my baby_

_Tomorrow's here_

_Won't you rise_

_Rise and shine for me_

_Wipe away those tears and rise_

_Rise and shine_

_Shine for me_

She looked up at the man, who was seemingly relaxed in his window, singing solemnly to the skies, eyes closed, bottle of alcohol in hand… She felt the soft whisk of wind, as if it were her mother singing those words, her father humming along with them…

_If the world is broken, _

_It's just 'cause hearts get broken,_

_Sticks and stones have broken my bones_

_But words hurt even more_

_I wonder what for_

_All I feel is love inside_

_And all I feel is love inside_

_So rise, rise and shine my baby_

_Tomorrow's here_

_Won't you rise, rise and shine for me_

_Wipe away those tears and rise_

_Rise and shine_

_Shine for me_

_My baby, my baby, my baby_

_Wont__ you rise and shine?_

The words "My baby" penetrated into her thoughts as she remembered her mother calling her. "My baby" in every possible memory…

_My baby, my baby_

_Won't you rise and shine?_

_My baby, my baby, my baby_

_Won't you rise and shine?_

_My baby…_

If it weren't for the soft winds wrapping around her, she would've collapsed into a baby's sleep over those lullaby-charmed words almost mistakenly taken from her own mother's…

_Rise…_

Satine suddenly noticed everything around her once again. The skies, the clouds, the birds and the crickets, the drunken men that began stumbling from bar doors and the singing man in the window had just fallen into a delightful sleep with the help of his trusty alcohol. She allowed her eyes to scan the sky one last time for something that would indicate her mothers' presence, but there was no such thing as smoke began pouring from the chimneys, clouding the reddened-orange tint. She put her head down and began passing quickly through the small streets, soon finding herself home with the smiling Aunt Mae.

Dinner passed slowly as it was mostly spent between Mr. Wesley and Aunt Mae discussing the neighborhood. And after dinner, night passed, and then nights passed, then weeks as Aunt Mae told Satine daily that she should go make something of her brains and beauty. Satine would only laugh it off and try learning to accept that the only living piece of her mother was dying. And like so, by the night before Satine's 17th birthday, Aunt Mae passed away.

The burial was small and impromptu due to lack of money, and to be honest, a Montmartre funeral never truly was anything more spectacular than a few sad friendly faces, a bouquet of flowers, and considering the person, there might even be music played by one of Montmartre's many skillful drunken musicians.

For pity over the lonely Satine, the drunkards played a soft medley of music as she cried miserably into Mr. Wesley's comforting shoulder. She whispered "You're all I have, Mr. Wesley."

"Satine, you've done all you could do, and that's all you've ever done. Your Aunt Mae wouldn't have lived as long as she did without your company. She wants you to live your life now, dear. She wants you to truly live." He kissed her forehead like a father would do after wiping her cheeks of the tears that flowed through.

That night, the Bohemians came to Mr. Wesley's door, where Satine was staying, and even brought a cake to cheer her up on her birthday. Along with the Bohemians came a girl about Satine's age, not particularly pretty, but done up in powdered makeup with the whore-like corset outfit and heels. After the small celebration, Satine thanked the Bohemians one-by-one for their generosity, and then almost cringed before she got to the made-up whore. She expected a few snide remarks and jokes about her her. The girl let out a puff of cigarette as she spoke "Oh don't worry, I'm not going to be a bother to you." She let out a slight chuckle afterwards until she saw the seriousness that remained on Satine's face. "Oh common dahlin,' I'm here to make a friend with ya." She tossed her cigarette out the window and lit another. Satine remained speechless as the words she tried to form didn't form and ultimately, nothing came from her lips. "Your name's Satine, right?"

After a struggle to find the answer to a simple question, she mustered up the courage for a quiet "Yes,"

"Pretty name for such a pretty girl…" She paused before letting out a hand. "I'm Nini Legs-in-the-air." Satine couldn't help but glance down a fishnet-covered leg. "Latest edition to the Moulin Rouge… I just wanted you to know that the other girls and I are sorry about your aunt and you're welcome to come be one of us."

While shaking Nini's hand, Satine was almost offended, and definitely more confident than before. "Um, I still work at Mr. Wesley's store. And it's really nice but you don't have to pity me-"

"I didn't pity you. We knew that your aunt wouldn't approve of us, so I thought now would be the right time to ask you." She muttered, and then nodded at her choice of words for the matter.

Satine looked about herself, speechless.

"I didn't make it sound like you needed to. I just meant that it would be fun. You must admit that you've been working every day of your life since you were ten. And for what? For food and a place to live. Alright, that's alright. But at the Moulin Rouge, we give you all of that. Nightly fun. Companionship by day. Us dancers are partners. You belong with us if you're going to stay in Montmartre for the rest of your life. You're gorgeous." She tossed out her second cigarette.

"Look, hunnybuns, I'm just suggesting, I ain't no auntie of yours. You don't have to listen to anyone. But if you change your mind and decide to come with me, you'll have yourself a good time. The girls would like you if they knew you." Nini gave Satine a smirk and a raised eyebrow, then twisted out the door, swinging her arms as she moved her hips in her flailing walk. She waved and laughed at the men who whistled in the streets.

That night, Satine thought as she lay by the window in Mr. Wesley's home. "What if I could be like that? What if I were one of them? I'd be dancing to that music right now. I'm a good dancer and I learn easily. And under all of those lights, just like mother."

.

.-,.--.,-

.

_A/N: Credits_

_Poem / prose beginning by me (__Crystal__ shatters)_

_"Rise Shine" by Poe and Gwen Stefani_

_I'm sorry if I've abandoned my last MR fic. I have plans to continue after I muster up some sort of energy to rewrite following chapters that got deleted (Oh, the horror). Otherwise, chapter 2 of this fic is already in pre-production. I enjoy comments & constructive criticism if you're willing to give it. –Kat =)_


	2. All Float On

_We all know she shines, but there really isn't an end without a beginning. A story of love, a story of sadness. "A story," according to __Montmartre__.__ Chapter 2 begins now…_

Disclaimer: All things Moulin Rouge by Baz and all its other owners, not me.

_A/N: I haven't written for at least a year, but that's only because my computer crashed and so have my words. And with a new fic comes a new name; I used to be Parisia Starr._

.

**A Bohemian Affair**

**Chapter 2: All Float On **

**By: Kat (****Crystal**** shatters)**

.

.-,.--.,-.

_Below every curtain lies a star that shines as bright as the sky_

_Behind ever mask lies a broken girl just trying to find her way_

_Beside every patron lies the prized possession who cries_

_Beneath the lipstick lie words that long to be heard_

_Between the eyes lie secrets that hope for some escape_

_Behold the beginning, a story without any end_

.-,.--.,-.

.

Satine had set out early the next morning, wearing her most flattering dress with lace like a corset, though she could not afford one. Her slim figure accented the hint of something pulled to perfection, her hair brighter than that of which the dancers at the Moulin Rouge dreamt of having; those curls of vibrant fury. It seemed almost natural that the place this innocent girl should be traveling to would be none other than the Moulin Rouge; A kingdom of nighttime pleasures.

She had one last look in the glass of the chipping door, checking her hair feverously as she left in a muster through the rain to find herself at Hell's gates. It was the Moulin Rouge, and with a slight push, the gates opened with a noisy creak as she stepped under the smaller-than-expected, rotating Moulin.

In a frantic fashion, Satine found herself brushing against the large bushels of green with her head down as the rain pelted her cloak, as she felt the water penetrate through her only pair of shoes as she made her way under the brightly colored hanging lights.

Before long, she had passed the large, yet dull elephant statuette, and the small fountain whose beauty would remind one of a goddess -- a goddess of nighttime pleasures, of course. The doors to the bordello were quite large, but not half as intimidating as the large dance floor that lay ahead of her.

Satine found a man at the end of the bordello, sitting at a table under lamplight appearing to be examining over papers and documents; handled carefully as to prove the obvious involvement of money. This alone was intimidating to Satine as the noticeably drier, warmer man sat slumped in his chair, plump with delight, but a smudge in the chair as far as Satine was concerned. She didn't know whether to approach him, or to leave him be, finding someone else to confront her curiosity.

The door shut by itself with a thud by the wind outside and the man looked up from his important files. "Who's there? Baby Doll, is that you?"

Satine cleared her throat without ease. "N-no, sir. It's Satine. Er, Mademoiselle Satine, of course." She licked her lips and brushed off her cloak in attempts to look ladylike.

The man stood up in wonder of how such a gazelle as herself might wonder into a place like this at such a given time. "And tell me, Mademoiselle… Just what brought you into such a place as this on such a dreary morning as this one?"

Those words might have almost sounded frightening if not for the hint of stuffiness, a clown-like aura about this fairly large, jolly old fellow. She tried to calm down in an act of sophistication. "I'd…" She paused. Exactly what _was _she doing here anyway? From the looks of things, this was obviously no place for a teenage girl such as herself. "I'd like to look into this place for a possible job change." She said it. Not _it_, exactly, but she said _something_. She hoped that it made sense.

"And do tell me, Mademoiselle, where are you currently employed?" He looked down her fit figure from afar. Beneath her cloak seemed to be a pair of legs most entrancing, as this man had an obvious fetish for the general area. "Remoine?" He blurted out the first and foremost closest dancehall that came to mind.

Satine shot a glance at him from having her eye on the artistic decor around the large room. She then thought it embarrassing to confess that she hadn't previously worked at a dancehall, but a small grocery store on 54 and Besier. "That is correct, sir."

The man was entranced. He began walking up to Satine, his fading, flaming hair becoming more visible in shorter distance. Satine had hoped that she had enough of Aunt Mae's lipstick on to make an impression, but alas, she feared that she looked like a young girl in run-of-the-mill clothing.

The man stuck out a hand. "I'm Harold Zidler. Welcome to the Moulin Rouge."

The thunder began crackling from above as lightning stuck down close, lighting up the inside of the Moulin.

Satine silently gulped, embracing her fear of new things with open arms. "So are there any positions open, a-as a dancer?"

"There are no limits to a career at the Moulin Rouge, Mademoiselle. Allow me to show you to your room. You're hired."

Satine was awe-struck, of the place, and trying to brush away her immediate thoughts of regret as Zidler's hand moved down her backside, leading her forward into a dim-lighted hall behind the dance floor. In a short while, Satine found herself in a small, cluttered room. A cot, slightly bigger than her own at Aunt Mae's, a mirror, a rack lined with corsets and sequins, heals of sorts were spread across the lining of a wall. Zidler began muttering few words, but Satine wasn't listening as she interrupted – "Monsieur Zidler, I-I already have a home. I don't need to live here." But the corsets, the style, the raunch, they did look tempting.

"Please call me, Harold!" He stroked the back of her neck in light motions, tickling her slightly. Satine was tense. "Miss Satine, this is a live-in position. As all positions are. You see, most of the dancers here at the Moulin Rouge – they don't have any place to live. They're homeless, that's why we insist on providing housing for all employees at the Moulin Rouge." The thunder crashed again.

"I see." Satine realized that if she really wants to establish a social connection in this town, she must do as the large, jolly, carrot-topped man said.

She plopped down on the bed and realized that she didn't bring any of her belongings. So she eyed the room as her fingers traced the lining of her waistline. The lace on it made her feel almost wealthy in design, but not by looking, only by touch. She sighed as she took a glance at the tiniest amount of artwork lining the room, over broken, wooden walls with dirtied wallpaper with a hint of small, blue flowers on it. Her room had definitely been abandoned previously; even the cot was collecting dust. She felt slightly more comfortable when she looked over at the amount of stylish corsets and lingerie lining the wall to the right. The closet was filled with 3 petticoats, but the bar outside of the closet had much more that met Satine's eye. Everything had sparkles and color. And Satine herself had been used to the plain blues and grays in her clothing for most of her life. Running her fingers over a bright red corset with black lace was most entrancing. So much that Satine hadn't noticed the woman who'd entered the room.

"So you're Satine."

Satine jumped around at the voice to face a slight woman with light, almost graying hair pinned up with a small fan. Her makeup was done well. Someone Mae would refer to as a "whore" but she was a bit past the age of performing many services. Satine guessed that she had been a dancer in her day as well, seeing that she wasn't much out of shape for the age.

"I'm Mrs. Marie-Sophie Zildler. But I stress that you call me Marie." She stuck out a white hand, jeweled with a few rings and bracelets. "We're happy to have you here at the Moulin Rouge. And I'm sorry if Harold came off as a bit… unmoved. He was. He's quite smitten with you already."

"Ah, yes. Well, Marie… I still have a few things at home I believe I'll need to stay here-"

"Oh, nonsense! We've got everything you need here. Or just come to me, and I will get it for you. The other girls call me "Maman Marie" or simply "Maman" if you'd prefer. In fact, upon your getting here, I whipped up some soup for you and a bit of tea since it looks as the rain seemed to have gotten you drenched."

"Thank… you, Marie."

Marie led Satine to the cot and pulled up a small chair, pulling the ceiling string for a stronger light to turn on. They talked and Satine had found that Marie was friends with Mae and danced with her mother along the great stages of Europe. She also once had a duet with The great Sarah Bernhardt, which had Satine fascinated for hours on end with the woman.

It was quite clear to her that she'd made the right choice in coming to this hellish place. It wasn't so bad, Satine thought, as she pulled up her slightly warmer covers than at home for the night.

As Satine slept, through the creaking walls, exhausted men sank down over tables, hunched and passed out as a soft tune played

_…a fake Jamaican took every last dime with a scam_

_It was worth it just to learn from sleight-of-hand_

_Bad news comes don't you worry even when it lands_

_Good news will work its way to all them plans_

_We both got fired on the exactly the same day _

_Well we'll float on good news is on the way_

_And we'll all float on okay_

_And we'll all float on okay_

_And we'll all float on okay_

_And we'll all float on alright_

_Already we'll all float on _

_Now don't worry we'll all float on_

_Alright already we'll all float on_

_Alright don't worry we'll all float on_

_And we'll all float on alright _

_Already we'll all float on_

_Aliright__ don't worry even if things end up a bit too heavy_

_We'll__ all float on alright…_

Things were better than they seemed, here at the Moulin Rouge. Every last depressing soul flew and landed here, to mingle, to forget their saddened lives and to drink away the sadness with the help of a green fairy. Even slumped over in their chairs, these men were having the time of their lives. Fake happiness isn't always just the cover up.

_All float on… (All float on…)_

.-,.--.,-

.

_A/N: Credits_

_Poem beginning by me_

_"Float On" by Modest Mouse_

_That concludes chapter two. Lots more to come (I haven't even introduced Christian yet!) So please, read and review._


End file.
